


Of All The Days I’ve Wanted To See You

by slurpee_gays



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Ghosts, JD is now a ghost, Mentioned Canonical Character Death, Mentioned Funeral, Other, Work In Progress, aftermath of canon, not exactly turned more like became
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29710983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slurpee_gays/pseuds/slurpee_gays
Summary: JD had opened his eyes after the explosion and found himself a ghost at his own funeral a week later, his soul tied to the last person there; his ex-girlfriend Veronica Sawyer. He existed on a different plain, unable to be seen or heard by her. He doesn’t know why he’s here, but he’s willing to find out one way or another.1st Person
Relationships: Ghost!Jason “J.D” Dean & Veronica Sawyer, Jason "J. D." Dean/Veronica Sawyer (past)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

I didn’t notice her until my vision cleared and my head stopped spinning. Didn’t notice until the fog cleared and people began moving, leaving her behind in a wake of black smog. Who was she? What was she late for? She must be late for something if she’s crying like that.

The scene becomes clearer with each step other people take away. I begin seeing features of her clothing, of the area around me and even the weather. God, the weather. It was sunny, bright, hurtful and contracting against the black clothes she wore.

Why black?

I look around. There are chairs. A handful of them. It’s some sort of ceremony. I feel a small sense of Deja Vu but it’s gone as quick as it arrives.

I turn my head. Below me is a grey, almost crescent rock. But soon it’s shape takes form. It’s a gravestone. I kneel down. Who died? Why am I here? Who is that girl who won’t leave?

I take a step back to breathe. I try to listen, to taste, to smell something, but it all alerts me too slow. I smell.. nothing. Hear sobbing and children whining. What am I doing here?

I can’t read the words. They’re jumbled, rushed, and I can’t read them even if I stood there for hours. I wouldn’t have anyways. The girl, woman, whoever, that is still seated is what brings my real attention. I try to move toward her, to move my legs. I look down. I’m wearing black too. What is up with the color black?

“What’s going on here?”

As soon as I speak I realize I can now answer my own question. Someone has died, this is their funeral, and this woman hasn’t left. Who was she? What connection did she have to the person who died?

I look to the grave, trying to read the words. Finally, I get something.

“ _Jason Dean_

_Born January 1st, 1972 Died October 3rd, 1989_ ”

I look over my shoulder. I know who that person is now. Veronica Sawyer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD thinks too much about the wrong things.

Thoughts in my head were rambling, running to figure out what this meant. I was missing pieces of myself, my memories, and I couldn’t help but wonder why was I here?

This was my own funeral. I had been blown to bits. Veronica had been spared. Westerburg had been spared. Kurt, Ram, Heather Chandler, they had  _not_ been spared. Was this my punishment for murder? Forced to watch the life of my ex-girlfriend unfold, tarnished with my past actions?

Veronica was still crying. She was the only one left here. Everyone else- who?-had left and no one cared she was left behind. As if they all had better things to do. 

I try walking again. I want to go to her, to speak with her. To do something, to ask a question. I can move. I walk to her.

I don’t feel the grass under my shoes. I don’t hear any sign that I exist in her plane of existence. I don’t belong.

I stand next to her, looking toward the gravestone marked with my name. I look at Veronica.

She’s different. A bad different. I can tell time has passed, not very much, but long enough for my death to have taken a toll on her. We both knew I went psycho in the end, even if I tried turning around last second. We both knew I was born to die. But her? She was born to be the perfect someone in someone’s life.

I was not her someone.

I had only known her a day before we hooked up, but when I met her I knew she would be my one and only. The only person I could ever open up to about anything, the only one I would want to hold my hand. I needed her, she wanted me, but we couldn’t have each other. 

She hasn’t stopped crying. No make-up runs down her face like in the movies, she has bags under her eyes, she looks skinnier and her hair is greasy. I can tell everything’s been bad since the explosion.

I can tell she’s stopped eating, or at least began eating less. I know this like it’s a fact, something I can easily tell without effort. She hasn’t slept in two days. Sure, a nap here or there. But this has been going on for a while.

I almost say I’m sorry. But she wouldn’t hear, and I know I wouldn’t mean it. Of course I’m sorry but... a part of me feels this is the wrong time. I don’t speak. I let her sob. 

It’s sunny. She’s probably sweating off any meat she has left on her bones with all the black fabric she’s wearing. But I know I can’t coax her home. So I stay like an obedient dog by her side, thinking.

Thinking. That, in the end, was the one thing I couldn’t do. 

I didn’t think things through. Sure, I thought about building a bomb and I did it, but I didn’t think about the consequences. Of course Veronica would hate me and fear me for it. I’m destructive. I didn’t think about the real consequences of killing Kurt and Ram, or Heather. I didn’t even directly kill Heather, but my actions lead to her death. My sense of humor was horrid. It still is.

But somehow I used to make Veronica laugh. I wish I could do that again. Just once more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD goes forward in time, just a little.

I almost didn’t notice when she stopped crying suddenly and huffed, whipping away her tears and walking the way everyone else had gone. I couldn’t help but wonder who had actually came to my funeral besides her.

I follow Veronica, not too far behind, but either way it doesn’t matter. She can’t sense me, no one can see me. I’m dead. But I know, and as does everyone else, there was no body to bury. The ground under my gave hadn’t been touched. 

She leaves the graveyard and I follow her still until she gets into the passenger seat of a vehicle. I know I can’t keep going with her.

I watch her through the window of the car talking to the driver and backseat passenger, checking up on her hair and wiping away any tears that were left on her cheeks. I wish I could talk to her. But she’s busy.

When I blink my eyes open, I’m somewhere new at a different time.

I know this place. It all comes together after a few moments of blurriness. This is the Sawyer household, more specifically the dining room/kitchen area. Mrs. Sawyer was in the kitchen cooking dinner, Mr. Sawyer was reading a detective novel, and Veronica had just come through the front door wearing normal clothes. Was this a different day entirely? 

Somehow I can tell only a few hours had passed. It was night of the same day, but Veronica was in different clothes. Still beautiful. Still Veronica Sawyer. 

I wonder if her parents knew about how I had dated her, and how she had just been to my funeral. They seem completely oblivious, happy and smiling to see her. I can’t hear what Mr. And Mrs. Sawyer are saying, but I didn’t care anyways. 

I watch Veronica, her movement, her actions and the way she looked away from her parents. She was hiding it from them. She left and went up the stairs. Of course I followed her to her room. 

She grabbed her diary and sat at her desk and began to write. I carefully walk over and look at the diary, trying to read the words she was writing. Reading upside down is difficult, I learn. But I don’t want to get closer. I’m close enough.

I could watch her write forever. The way her hand moves so delicately across the page, connecting cursive letters and making a work of art out of words alone. Though this was no art piece, I knew. She was crying again. 

I almost reach out and grab the pencil from her hand to pause her, but I can’t. I’m still dead, still a ghost and there’s no reviving me. I don’t exist in her plane. I’m alone. I’m always alone.

Veronica’s head lifts and she’s looking straight through me. I turn around, wondering what she’s looking at. There’s nothing there. I turn back to her. She seems to shrug it off and continue writing.

There’s nothing I can do but watch.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agony.

Veronica continued to write but soon enough she can no longer wipe away the tears on the pages of her diary in fear of ripping the page apart. She puts her pencil down and tries to relax. I still stand in front of her desk and I feel as though she’s looking right through me. She is.

I still don’t understand why I’m here. It doesn’t make sense to me. There”s no reason for me to be able to see this happening. I know I can’t escape it, though.

“I need a shower.” I can hear Veronica mutter to herself with a choked laugh full of tears, pained and with a forced smile. It’s awful.

“You need a lot of things, Veronica Sawyer,” I mutter in response, but I know she can’t hear me. I wish she could. “You need rest.”

My words go unheard. They always do. It’s never hurt more to be ignored. I go quiet and decide it’s best for me to shut up.

When I blink, time has passed again. It’s night and Veronica is still wearing the same clothes. No shower. I come over to her bed where she’s laying and look to her alarm clock. It’s almost 2am. God.

The waiting game with her is a slow one. Then again, I don’t know what I’m waiting for. None of these time snippets make sense. I still don’t understand why I’m here. Am I supposed to be able to do something?

I look at the clock again and I’ve been standing here for an hour and Veronica has just laid there. She’s not sleeping. 

Agony.

The word suddenly came to me, slamming my head like a hammer. I don’t understand it. Agony? Why agony? Was this something I was supposed to be feeling?

Every moment I think of answers to my growing collection of questions, I only get more questions. It’s frustrating. I sit at the edge of Veronica’s bed, but it doesn’t crease or anything like that, and think.

I think about how much I’ve missed her. How much I’ve damaged her. But she’s not broken beyond repair, she can do the good in the world that I could never dream of doing. I wish I had another chance.

I look to her. She’s finally sleeping, but her clock reads almost 7 am. Almost time for her to get up and start the day. Why hasn’t she told her parents about why she can’t sleep? Told them about my death and how it has affected her? They could help.

But what do I know about parents. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts

Before I know it Veronica is awoken by her alarm. She hadn’t gotten under the covers, hadn’t taken off her clothes, hadn’t taken the shower she said she would. She barely got an hour of sleep.

“You need a nap,” I grumbled, crossing my arms above her. She doesn’t notice and stands, practically walking right through me on her way to her dresser. 

“I need to do laundry,” She mumbles and groans, rummaging through her drawers for clean clothes. “Crap, did I study for my test?”

I’ve never seen Veronica move so frantically before. Except when my dad had gotten home early one day while she was over. Then, it seemed like she just didn’t want to be around Bud, here it was she knew she needed to get moving.

She was moving and searching fast for someone who hasn’t slept well in a week and barely got an hour of shut eye. It was almost impressive. In a few moments she had tossed somewhat-clean clothes onto her bed and went to the bathroom. I turn away and let her do her morning routine.

When she’s done and fully dressed I turn back toward her. Even like this, at what seemed to be her lowest, she’s still beautiful. She grabs her diary and heads out of her room and down the hall to the stairs. The corners of the room get fuzzy and I’m forced to follow her if I don’t want to be left alone to blurriness.

She’s talking with her parents, and to me everything is muffled and jumbled. Even the faces of her parents are blurred, really everything is, besides Veronica. I focus on her. She’s my only tether to this world. That, and the reason why I’m here. 

I still don’t understand that last part. 

Veronica is done speaking to her parents and I hear what I can assume was a car horn. She grabs toast and runs out the door, barely waving a goodbye to her parents. She slammed the door behind her. I try to follow but when I go to open the door, I can’t. I try walking through it.

That was awful. Note to self: don’t walk through doors.

I see her down the driveway getting into the front passenger seat of the same car that had picked her up at the funeral. It must be one of her friends. Martha, maybe? But I didn’t know if she could drive. I didn’t get to really know her.

I watch them drive off. The further they go, the fuzzier my vision gets until I’m practically blind. 

And then I’m at a different time, a different place. Not too different. I’m standing in the middle of Veronica’s room, and she is looking out of her bedroom door, waiting for something. She then closes it and takes a deep, shaky breath. What’s she doing?

She faces me, er, puts her back to the door and slides down it, resting her face in her hands, and beings to cry. I’ve never heard such a hurtful sound before.

Veronica just sits there and cries. I don’t know what to do. She starts flinching and at one point raises her head and glares at something, or someone, in the room. I look around. No one is here besides me.

Her glare hardens and more tears fall down her face. “Shut up, Heather!” She yells, and I flinch at her sudden aggression.

Heather? Heather Chandler? But she’s dead, and very clearly not here in the room. She’s been dead for at least a week. She’s probably rotting in hell.

“Why.. why can’t you just  _shut up_ ?” Veronica chokes on her words, sobbing and hiding her face again. Who is she talking to?

I look around the room again, look for a sign. Something that would mean it could be possible. I look at Veronica’s mirror and see my own reflection. I’ve never looked worse.

Looked.

I can see myself. But why? That doesn’t make sense. But.. that means that I’m real. I’m on a different plane of existence, right? I’m a ghost.

Is Heather a ghost too?

And if she is, then how is she talking to Veronica? Are Ram and Kurt ghosts too? Why can’t I see any of them? Why can’t Veronica see _me_?


End file.
